


Confined

by define_serenity



Series: Seblaine Sunday Challenge [12]
Category: Glee
Genre: Elevators, M/M, Panic Attacks, Trapped In Elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 22:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1321510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/define_serenity/pseuds/define_serenity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Seblaine Sunday: trapped in an elevator] Blaine’s running late for an important job interview, only to get stuck in an elevator with a certain Sebastian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confined

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Seblaine Sunday, prompt: **trapped in an elevator.**

There’s no way he’s going to make it on time.

Blood rushes fast through his veins as he races towards his destination, feet pounding at the pavement, wind whipping at him violently.

How did this even happen? He’s had this interview lined up for weeks, it’s all he’s been looking forward to, he’s been driving Sam and Tina crazy with how much he’s been talking about it. He researched the company, memorized its history and most of the employees’ names, he fussed about his outfit for days, had his sketches tucked away safely, so by all means he should’ve been ready.

But from the moment his alarm clock sounded everything had gone wrong; Tina overslept and was still hogging up the bathroom, Sam broke the toaster so he ate the last of his cereal, even though it was very clearly labeled _BLAINE_ , _DO NOT TOUCH_ – just like every other article of food got labeled with their names the moment they came home from the grocery store. His curls refused to be tamed, and _how did he get the hang of tying a bowtie but not an actual tie_ , and to top it all off Tina had stolen his drawing folder to store the sketches for her set designs, so he’d lost time unearthing his old one from the storage unit.

Subsequently people got in his way, the subway ran late and once it got there he’d almost missed his stop. Now he was running down the street like a maniac with barely a minute to spare to reach the most important job interview of his entire life. He finally had a shot at an internship at Smythe & Sylvester, the most prestigious architecture firm in New York, and he was going to be late, which never left a good first impression. And when you’re up against two dozen or so other candidates who deserved it just as much as he did, a first impression spoke volumes.

He was so screwed.

He reaches the building, one minute overdue, and rushes up the front steps two at a time, races down the lobby, and shouts “HOLD THE DOORS!” at whomever inside the elevator willing to hear his plea. Thankfully a hand shoots between the doors, forcing them open once more, and he slips inside, briefcase, folder and coat in tow, his heart pounding at his ribcage like a hammer drill.

“Thanks,” he breathes at the tall helpful boy, though he’s none too sure his gratitude comes over clearly; his chest kind of hurts, but he chucks that up to his sprint from the subway, unable to properly control his breathing as he bypassed slow pedestrians on the sidewalk.

“What floor?” comes the boy’s voice.

He draws in a deep breath before he’s able to say, “Six, please,” and presses himself back against the wall, desperately attempting to calm his breathing.

“Guess we’re going to the same place.” The boy presses the button for the sixth floor. “You applying for the internship?”

His eyes skip to his only company in the elevator, stomach swooping a little once the elevator kicks into gear–the boy lounges back against the opposite wall, arms crossed over his chest, somehow pulling off his expensive black-and-white suit like it’s casual wear.

He nods, a cold sweat at the back of his neck. “You?” he asks, his fingers wiring around the hand railing while his vision flashes in and out. Maybe he’s dehydrated or something, but he forgot to pack a juice box, so there’s no hope of getting rid of this faintness before the interview.

“Oh no, I’m visiting.” The boy smiles effortlessly. “Sebastian.”

He swallows hard. “Blaine,” he offers, far too preoccupied with his own body to fully appreciate how the boy’s eyes take him in from head to toe. It’s flattering, to be noticed by a total stranger even if his interest might not be kosher, but it’s a welcome distraction.

The elevator grounds to a sudden halt, like someone hit the brakes far too hard, making the entire compartment shake. This can’t be happening.

Sebastian scoffs, “Fantastic.”

“No, no, no, no,” –a blind panic seizes him and he flies towards the control panel, pressing whatever button he finds– “This can’t be happening. No, please, God no!”

He slams a fist against the control panel.

“Hey, relax.” Sebastian grabs him by the wrist, wrenching him away from the controls. “Here,” he says, and pushes the red alarm button at the bottom of the panel. “They’ll send someone.”

He reels back a step, his hearing blanketed by the incessant pounding of his heart, sweat breaking out at his temples–he pulls at his tie and loosens a button or two on his shirt, but it doesn’t help get any air to his lungs. “No, I have to get out of here.” His eyes shoot to every corner of the elevator searching for a way out, the frantic rhythm inside his chest getting worse by the second. “Do we have enough air?”

“Are you okay?” Sebastian asks.

He finds Sebastian’s eyes, filled with worry. “I can’t breathe,” he whispers. “I think–” His thighs quiver, nausea settling in his stomach. “I’m having a panic attack.”

“Shit, you need to calm down.”

“You think?!” he squeaks and falls down on his knees, his head getting lighter and lighter from the limited oxygen he’s drawing in. He claws at the elevator floor.

“Think about something else.” Sebastian sits down in front of him, a hand on his shoulder. “Friends? Family?”

He closes his eyes and tries to swallow, but all it achieves is a white hot panic, his chest heavy and painful, like someone had piled a few cinder blocks on top of him and was jumping up and down on them for good measure.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Sebastian asks.

He shakes his head; he can’t think about _his love life_ at a time like this, which is nothing to write home about to begin with. Not only had he battled with a crush on Sam he’s sure sprouted from his loneliness in the big city, he’d gone on three disastrous blind dates this past month alone. “You’re not helping.”

Sebastian squeezes his shoulder. “Just try to slow your breathing.”

“I c-can’t,” he chokes out. This must be what dying feels like, he catches himself thinking, there’s no coming back from this, he’s going to die in an elevator, in front of a cute ( _was he cute?_ ) stranger who’s desperately trying to calm him down.

“Look at me,” Sebastian says. “Blaine, look at me. Slow your breathing.”

He looks up into Sebastian’s eyes, gorgeous green eyes riddled with such sweet concern, but it’s not helping, he’s lost control of his entire body and any moment now he’s going to pass out. He draws in another shaky breath that wheezes audibly down his throat.

“Fuck it,” Sebastian says and lunges forward, the force of their lips colliding along with the shock of being kissed forcing a deep breath inside his lungs, his eyes fluttering shut before he stops breathing altogether. Some of the pressure on his chest abates once Sebastian smooths his lips against his, again, and again, and he gets lost in a new rhythm far calmer than his previous one.

Sebastian pulls back a few seconds later.

A breath shudders out of him, and he opens his eyes, face to face with a boy he sees far more clearly now; the few dark freckles on his cheek and below his left eyebrow–Sebastian _is pretty cute_ , and he sort of saved his life too. “How did you do that?”

One of the corners of Sebastian’s mouth twitches a little. “Holding your breath can stop a panic attack.”

He sits back against the wall, wiping his sweaty palms down his legs. “Thanks.”

Sebastian sits down next to him. “Just doing my civic duty.”

“Kissing helpless boys in elevators?”

“A new one for me, I must admit.”

He laughs, any panic flowing out of him, his shoulders relaxing, his heartbeat back to an acceptable pace. That is until he checks his watch, and sees he’s now almost fifteen minutes late to his job interview. He sighs, “There goes my dream job”, cursing himself for not setting his alarm clock sooner, or at least warn his roommates that if they made him late there’d be hell to pay. Now all he can think off is nursing a big tub of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream in front of the television tonight.

“I’m sure you can explain what happened.”

He glances at Sebastian. “That the entire universe conspired against me this morning?”

“Killer, I’m insulted. Maybe the universe conspired for us to meet.”

Laughing again, he bumps shoulders with Sebastian, oddly at ease, and even though they’ve only just met and he knows nothing about Sebastian, even though they’ve kissed and by all means his cheeks should have turned a bright red, a sense of calm pervades him now, his head clearer, his chest lighter, his breathing normal.

“Besides, the elevators do this all the time.” Sebastian stands up again. “I’ll explain it to your future boss.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Come on.” Sebastian holds out a hand and pulls him up from the ground, taking a heedless step closer to him. “Let’s make you presentable again.” Sebastian’s breath teases over his skin, before he cracks a grin and reaches both hands up for his collar; he buttons his shirt up and rearranges his tie, all with the utmost care and concentration.

His own eyes have landed squarely on Sebastian’s lips, his skin flushed warmer, but it’s far more pleasant this way–and he really wouldn’t mind if Sebastian kissed him again. People have met in stranger situations than these.

The elevator starts up again. He’s almost disappointed.

“There we go.” Sebastian takes a step back to admire his handiwork, and tugs his own tie loose, dragging a hand through his hair to mess it up a bit.

The doors slide open.

“What are you doing?” he asks, quickly grabbing his things together while Sebastian keeps the doors from closing.

Sebastian winks. “Play along, killer.”

They walk down a short hallway together, at the end of which stood a small reception desk, currently unmanned. A man he recognizes immediately makes his way out of his office: Clarence Smythe, one of the CEOs, the same man he was meant to meet close to twenty minutes ago.

But Mr Smythe addresses Sebastian instead of him. “Sebastian. I’m afraid I’m running a little late today.”

Sebastian closes the distance between him and Mr Smythe. “Dad, you are never going to believe what just happened.” Sebastian grabs his father ( _his father?_ ) around the shoulders. “We were on our way up, me and Blaine,” –Sebastian turns and points at him; an awkward smile tugs at his lips– “And the elevator got stuck again. We must’ve been in there for half an hour. I completely lost it. Thank God for Blaine here though, he really calmed me down.”

He blinks a few times, even though he’s tempted to check his hearing instead. Not only did he get trapped in an elevator with a boy who knew exactly how to calm him down, that same boy was Clarence Smythe’s son? In what world does a thing like this happen?

“Blaine Anderson?” Mr Smythe approaches him and holds out his hand. “Clarence Smythe.” He shakes Mr Smythe’s hand. “Why don’t you follow me to my office?”

Mr Smythe turns around and heads for his office again, Sebastian smiling at him triumphantly.

And he stares ahead, dumbfounded. “I’m applying to work for your father?”

Sebastian grins. “You’re going to be seeing a lot more of me, killer.”

“You say that like I already have the job.”

Sebastian tracks past him and smacks his ass. “Well, the boss’ son did just sexually assault you in an elevator,” he says. “You could totally threaten to sue.”

 

 

**\- fin -**

 


End file.
